[oom] I'm right here beside you

[from_the_outside]

 Sleep is a joke.

It's not just the intel that she stays up sifting through, blue light straining her eyes; it's not just the coffee she drinks, trying to keep her brain sharp and her thoughts on track. 

It's time.

Minutes that slip away, that she can't get back. Hours that tick ponderously past. She lies alone in her bed and can't close her eyes because if she does, if she sleeps, it's another night gone, another night closer to the day Bucky goes back under and –

So she stays up and works. 

It means that when she waits for him in the morning to come find her before they meet with T'Challa and the others, her skin is pale and translucent and she has that sick feeling of an all-nighter, fatigue poisons running rampant through her bloodstream – but she has a list of observations from her analysis, and two mugs of coffee kept warm on the credenza: one pale with milk and sugar, the other black and as strong as her little coffee maker could handle.

Comments

[from_the_outside]

"Not sure," she says, smiling as she lifts her cup to her lips. "Are they still the ballpark franks? I haven't had a decent hot dog since the last time I was in New York."

Which was, she realizes, belatedly, just after Thessaloniki, when she took a long layover in New York City on her way home to Richmond for the express purpose of sharing intel with Maria Hill and Steve.

God, it feels like a lifetime ago.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Maybe," he says. "You used to be able to get them at Coney Island, when Steve and I were kids. The New York baseball teams picked them up from there. I don't know about anywhere else."

He takes a sip of his wine and adds, "But this looks really good. Especially the fruit."

[from_the_outside]

"I've never actually been to Coney Island," she admits, putting her cup down and looking over the little spread.

"I can go get the plates or we can just eat out of the containers; what do you think?"

She has some silverware and napkins, but no plates or bowls.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Containers is fine with me," he says, but absently. Bucky is staring at her in surprise.

"What, never?"

[from_the_outside]

She makes an amused, half-exasperated face at him.

"Not all of us have spent that much time in New York," she reminds him. "It's never been a priority."

[nerves_of_ice]

"No, I mean, I know that, but --"

He trails off there, realizing he has no way to explain why it's such a surprise to him. Because she's right, it shouldn't be. There's no reason for her to have spent any time in New York at all, much less to explore it, or even to like it enough to ever want to see it again, unlike him.

"-- never mind," he finishes, and takes another sip of wine.

[from_the_outside]

She watches thoughts chase themselves across his face, and smiles a little ruefully. "I'd like to go," she tells him, a little prompting. "It's always sounded great. I bet you and Steve used to go whenever you could, huh?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"We did," he agrees. Something distant and fond flickers in his glance. "It was always a lot of fun."

He shakes himself out of it and pushes the nearest container towards her.

"Anyway."

[from_the_outside]

She digs in, forking up some meat and vegetables along with a bite of rice. It is good, even cold.

"I don't think I've ever felt about a place the way you and Steve do about Brooklyn," she says, after she's chewed, as she starts spreading goat cheese on a piece of flatbread and tops it with honeyed fruit. "I'm honestly a little envious."

[nerves_of_ice]

He mimics what she's doing with the bread and cheese and fruit, balancing the bread on one leg in order to do so, and gives her a little shrug.

"It's Brooklyn," he says. "It's just ... the neighborhood. The community. All the familiar things. The feel of it."

[from_the_outside]

She shakes her head, still smiling. "I've never felt that way about Richmond," she points out. "Or anywhere. It's nice that you do."

Brooklyn, like everything else, has changed a lot in the last eighty years...but she's pretty sure that doesn't really matter. Not to them.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Why not?"

[from_the_outside]

"I don't know."

She shrugs a little, pausing as she lifts her flatbread. "It's just never been part of my identity, I guess. Not like Brooklyn is for you and Steve. Maybe that place doesn't exist for me."

It's okay. She's never been one to put down roots.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Or maybe you just haven't found it yet," he says, reaching for a skewer and some of the curried vegetables. "I'm not surprised it's not Richmond, though."

[from_the_outside]

"Maybe," she says, easily. "It's a nice thought."

She huffs a little laugh – no, it's definitely not Richmond – and chews on her flatbread, which is delicious, and washes her bite down with a sip of the wine, cool and bright on her tongue.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Good," he tells her, with a small, warm smile. "You should have more nice thoughts."

[from_the_outside]

"Oh yeah?"

Her eyes are warm as she looks over at him and wonders, like she does so often, just how the hell this good thing came to pass. "I'll have you know I think plenty of nice thoughts."

Especially over the last week.

[nerves_of_ice]

He huffs out a soft breath of what might be amused laughter.

"My mistake, then," he says, and reaches for another piece of fruit.

[from_the_outside]

"Well," she says, arch over the rim of her cup, "I guess I could always use a few more."

It is a nice thought, that maybe someday she'd find a place that feels as much like her as it does like itself. Somewhere she belongs, somewhere she can put down roots. "Besides, I'm pretty happy right here in Wakanda for now."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Wakanda's nice," he agrees. "One of these days I'm going to do a photo study over the course of a day. Or a week."

[from_the_outside]

"That sounds like a great project."

She has another bite of bread and cheese and fruit and smiles at him. "You should show me some of your photos. There must be some you like so far, right?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Some," he admits. He studies her, and the corners of his mouth curve slightly upward. "I will, if you want."

[from_the_outside]

"I do want," she assures him, smiling at that faint smile. "I don't know much about photography, but maybe I can extrapolate from my old art history classes."

Not that it matters. She's interested in his photos, the things he finds interesting or beautiful enough to try and capture, not the process of photography itself.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Okay," he says, even as his expression turns more rueful. "But if it's actual art you want to see you should talk to Steve instead. These are just pictures."

[from_the_outside]

"I want to see your pictures," she points out, undeterred.

He's enjoyed taking them, she knows, and that's the point.

(Although she's going to have to do something about that strap he keeps having to adjust.)